


The Perks of Having a Gal Pal

by cheeky_geek_m0nkey



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeky_geek_m0nkey/pseuds/cheeky_geek_m0nkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca is a famous musician/producer (really, we all knew it was going to happen), and Chloe’s America’s sweetheart as the host of a reality dance show. After four years at Barden denying that they were hopelessly in love, Beca’s having a hard time accepting the media’s refusal to acknowledge their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“God,” the door opened unceremoniously, and from the kitchen counter, Chloe heard Beca’s boots echoing on the foyer floor. She was mumbling something that the walls didn’t pick up until she entered the kitchen. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Chloe looked up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner, spotting the tiny hurricane of a rage whirling through the room. It took most of Chloe’s self-control not to break into a grin. “Ah yes, great to see you too. My day was great, thanks for asking. I’m just making dinner for my gorgeous girlfriend. No big deal.”

Beca rolled her eyes, pulling herself onto the bar-stool before throwing a magazine down and opening up to a page where her own face was smiling giddily back up at them. Donning a striped suit with high-waisted jean shorts, photo-Beca was propped on one elbow, her hand trailing down Chloe’s figure - which was donning a bikini that, at the time, nearly convinced Beca to not leave the house at all. Their legs were intertwined on the towel, and it was a grainy photo, but you could see the wicked grin on their faces. Beneath the photo, “Hollywood’s Favorite Girl-Power Duo Enjoy a Day at the Beach”.

“It’s a cute photo,” Chloe remarked, moving to read the rest of the magazine. She was a sucker for tabloids, even after she started adorning the glossy pages with headlines like “Red-Headed Bombshell Hosts TV’s Most Talked About Dance Show”.

Beca groaned, frustrated, and pulled the magazine out of Chloe’s grasp.

“Becs, what’s the issue?”

“What’s the issue?!” Beca asked incredulously, running her hands through her hair. “‘Girl-power duo’?! Seriously? My tongue is practically down your throat.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, turning back to check on the lasagna in the oven. Grabbing the oven-mitts, she reached in and pulled out the food, placing it on the cooling rack with a satisfied smile. (She knew she’d nail this domestic thing eventually).

“Chloe!” Beca squeaked, still annoyed. “Why aren’t you bothered by this?!”

Chloe shrugged, pulling out plates. “Should I be? It’s not exactly surprising. Without any official statement by us, they just want to be safe.”

“Safe?!” Beca rolled her eyes, scoffing. “I was behind Zac Efron in traffic last week, and they called us the new ‘It’ couple.”

Trying to stifle a laugh, Chloe watched as Beca’s cheeks got redder with frustration. Tiny, irritated Beca was a Beca that always made Chloe giddy. Still, she held a hand up to Beca’s cheek, trying to calm her down. “Breathe, Mitchell. Dumb media bullshit comes with the territory.”

Admittedly, Chloe was right. Of course. They had both seen infinitely worse things written about them, and it was an accepted part of this dream wherein they could make music - or be adorable on stage - and make money. They’d sold their lives to this world a while ago, for their art ( “art” being loosely defined here).

And, on top of that accepted compromise, Beca despised most forms of PDA. The fact that she was angry about not being called out on it? It didn’t make much sense. In fact, the amount of irritation brewing in Beca over these inane and innocuous comments made next to no sense at all. Except, after years of keeping herself from gushing over Chloe Beale, she assumed that sealing the deal with a kiss meant that she wouldn’t have to hide any of that shit anymore.

“I just…” Beca pushed herself off the bar-stool, moving around the counter to put a hand on either side of Chloe’s hips. “I just kinda want to show the world how hot my girlfriend is.”

Chloe smiled, licking off the tomato sauce on her thumb before resting her arms on Beca’s shoulders.

“You know,” Chloe hummed, leaning closer to the other girl, “We could make it impossible for them to deny it.”

Beca breathed, pushing closer to Chloe so that their lips were nearly touching. “Show me what you’ve got in mind, Beale.”

–

In the weeks that followed, most of Beca’s voicemail was filled with her agent complaining about another action shot of them sneaking in and out of alleyways or peeking through the windows of their not-entirely-private bedroom, bedraggled and half-dressed.

“This is not how a respectful celebrity behaves, Mitchell,” her agent said for the umpteenth time before Beca whined an agreement and hung up. He was right, she knew. Prior to this gal-pal experiment, her private life was and forever would be her private life. Privacy was a right she guarded at all costs - even before she was announced as the next big thing.

Only, privacy was stripped from her as a result of the game Chloe concocted. The how-far-can-we-push-this game. Because Beca, who hated public…well, whatever they were doing…which, admittedly, was quite a lot…probably too much…found herself quite enjoying Chloe’s take on this game.

It was a dangerous cycle they indulged in, really. Beca would get riled up about the ridiculous headlines, and Chloe would take that anger and let it push Beca into allowing her to practically straddle the musician at a Hollywood luncheon or nip at her ear in the middle of an award show - causing Beca to throw her a glance that in itself was not safe for work. Those things would fuel a new round of ridiculous headlines, and the cycle would start again.

The danger of this game didn’t go unnoticed by their friends.

You two are so dumb, Jesse texted her, along with a picture of a tabloid from an aisle at a grocery store.

Glad to see my favorite gal pals are getting along swimmingly, Amy emailed them with a link to an article about “Best Friend Goals”.

This has really got to stop, Aubrey snapchatted Chloe a picture of them on an entertainment news channel, to which Beca responded by stealing the redhead’s phone and sending a picture of her middle finger with the caption You’re the one watching that shit anyway.

Sitting on the couch after dinner, still catching up on the day, Chloe mentioned how her agent suggested they start following the mindset of “they can’t mislabel it if you don’t give them anything to label”.

Beca pressed her head further into Chloe’s lap.

“I want to give them something to label,” she whined, as Chloe ran circles over their palms. Chloe watched the way Beca’s brows were knit in absolute frustration. She hummed.

“You’re really bothered about this, aren’t you?”

“I…really like us,” she explained, “Like, I love you, and I like this, and I’ve spent a little too long letting ‘us’ be nonexistent, yunno?”

Chloe nodded, pushing the other girl to continue. Beca always needed encouragement.

“It’s not some big pride thing,” she pressed onwards, “It’s really not. It’s just the fact that…I don’t know…if we’re only real inside of these four walls, then are we really real at all?”

Pausing her trailing finger, Chloe intertwined her hand with Beca’s. “We don’t need some magazine headline to be real, Beca,” she reminded.

“No, but it’d be nice. I want to talk about you. ‘What’s your favorite food?’ Oh, this fucking amazing zucchini pasta my girlfriend makes. ‘What’s the best gift you ever received?’ Oh, this star necklace my girlfriend gave me before we were dating. ‘Where do you see yourself in the next five years?’ Sitting right here, next to my girlfriend, arguing over what we should name our dog, because I refused to have a pug named Phinneas.”

Chloe laughed at that, tracing Beca’s hairline with her pinky. “It’s a fantastic pug name,” she argued quickly, bending down to kiss Beca’s forehead. “You see, the risk in all that is that the world will realize bad-ass singer and producer Beca Mitchell is the softest most adorable whipped romantic ever.”

Beca smiled shyly, shrugging. “I’m not even going to deny that one anymore,” she answered, and Chloe bit her lip, her chest warming up. She squeezed Beca’s hand.  
“Patience, babe,” she said, “They’ll get there.”

–

Only, they didn’t exactly “get there”. And, with Beca having to go on a two-week press tour away from Chloe, she was slammed with questions that seemed to rub in the fact that hadn’t “gotten there”. Which was only part of the reason that four hours didn’t seem like enough time for the couple to fully reunite before having to be on the red-carpet for Chloe’s show’s season premiere.

Fortunately for Chloe, the show was getting the best ratings on television, but unfortunately for Beca, this meant that showing support for her girlfriend entailed walking on an outdoor carpet in a dress that was squeezed so tightly she wasn’t allowed to eat dinner, with reporters shouting her name and cameras flashing lights. And, even though they’d arrived in the same car (a truly wonderful fact, because as they left, Chloe ran a finger over Beca’s bare-shoulder and purred “God, that dress is sexy” in such a way that would’ve delayed them from the event otherwise), Chloe quickly disappeared from Beca’s side, swept away to deal with prep for the show and specific network interviews.

She was understandably starving and grumpy by the time she was corralled towards the two spray-tanned reporters she recognized from Aubrey’s snapchats. Entirely too cheery, too skinny, and too plastic, they seemed to swarm her with questions about her dress, her night,her music, and just when Beca thought she’d escape with easy, one-worded answers, they asked about Chloe.

“Are you excited about tonight’s show?” the man asked, shoving a microphone into Beca’s face. Beca shrugged.

“Yeah, I follow it closely.”

“Do you have a favorite contestant?” the woman jumped in, and Beca could almost feel her eyes light up at the prospect of talking about Chloe - Chloe who glowed on stage, Chloe who had this lovable tendency to move off script, her eyes alight with mischief.

“I actually have my eyes on the host,” Beca answered, grinning.

“Right! Chloe Beale is a close friend of yours,” the woman said, and the man chuckled, bouncing off of her comment with a bubbliness that had to be induced by drugs of some sort. “She certainly seems like a good time.”

“Mmhhhmmm,” Beca said, her grin widening to near wicked status. She fiddled with her rings, thinking about the car-ride to the red-carpet, and the fact that Chloe’s dress was a shade of blue that should be made illegal. “She’s amazing.”

“Now, tell me, Beca, while we have you here,” the man said, taking a small step closer - which, if Beca weren’t so giddy at the image of Chloe, would’ve sent her further into classic Beca-grump territory. “What do Hollywood’s favorite BFFs do for fun?”

The couple’s diluted title woke Beca up from her daydream, piercing her with the same fierceness she was starting to become accustomed to when she saw the headlines. With irritation, she thought back to the limo-ride, and the pictures released of them earlier in the week, and how, despite the caption “Beale touches best friend’s chest in a familiar way”, the touch most definitely did not feel friendly.

She smiled, then, making sure the camera caught the glimmer in her eyes. “Um, well, we bake sometimes. Online shopping, crappy reality TV…all that jazz.” The reporters were nodding, smiling as they expected almost every word. But Beca wasn’t done.

“Oh, also, we have sex. Like, a lot of sex. Classic gal pal fun-times for us!”

–

That night, when she pulled her phone out of the clutch she’d borrowed from Chloe as they pulled up to the Taco Bell drive-through, she scrolled to the top of the Bellas group chat - which had just been renamed “Acapella is NOT Wat BFFs Do For Fun”, where Amy had started what seemed to be an enthusiastic conversation with: Subtle, Bx, real subtle.


	2. Part II

The driver pulled away from the Taco Bell take-out window, and Beca reached into the paper bag as her phone lit up with texts.

“You couldn’t have been a little less crude, Becs?” Chloe finally said between bites of their fourth meal. Her phone was lighting up too; the Bellas all seemed to have something to say about Beca’s little confession. “Like, you didn’t think your undying love for me was maybe better press material?”

Beca rolled her eyes, picking up a piece of lettuce that had fallen on the seat cushions and eating it. “Chlo, that wouldn’t have worked. I mean, I’m not even sure the whole sex comment worked, to be honest. By tomorrow the headlines will read: ‘Mitchell Dishes on Her Fav Sleepover Games with Buddy Beale’. We honestly have nothing to worry about.”

Beca scratched her forehead, getting frustrated at the prospect. Chloe, who had been sending Beca chastising glares, broke slightly. She loved the crease Beca got between her eyebrows, and the way her cheeks would suck in as if she needed to place all her focus on the act of being irritated. It was like watching a little kid be refused ice cream until their vegetables are eaten. (Admittedly, that was a scene Chloe actually enacted with Beca a few nights after they moved in together). She fought the pull that Beca’s adorable frustration had on her heartstrings, wanting to draw out the argument just a little bit further. The smaller woman had to learn eventually that if they were connected in eyes of the public, what Beca said would and could (and did) directly impact her career. Now seemed like the perfect time to teach that lesson.

Chloe forced herself to look away from the perturbed woman, deciding instead to address the plentiful and erratic notifications on her phone.

[CR “Don’t give me a white girl nickname” (1:22am)]: Srsly, Becs, big fan of that last interview  
[Aca-Aubrey (1:23am)]: Yeah, I bet her agents are just jumping with joy.  
[Aca-Aubrey (1:23am)]: You know, there’s this thing called professionalism.  
[Fat Pat (1:24am)]: Calm your tits, Bree  
[Fat Pat (1:24am)]: It’s good tv  
[Stacie the Sex God (1:25am)]: Amen 2 that. My kind of tv for sure  
[Jessica - Ashley #2? (1:27am)]: Your kind of tv is porn  
[Stacie the Sex God (1:28am)]: Tru, but judging from last week’s TMZ pics, that won’t be far off for our little aca-couple  
[Aca-Aubrey (1:29am)]: God help us.  
[Aca-Aubrey (1:29am)]: Also, all of you should be in bed.

Beca, too, was watching the texts as they rolled in, preferring to stay in the safe place of her group chat instead of the several texts coming from her boss and agent. Though it wasn’t the same as when they were all together, it felt good to burrow into the comfortable bickering of her old acapella group. 

She moved out to LA right after graduation. Chloe followed less than a week later, confirming most of the Bellas’ suspicions as to the true reason Russian lit was so hard for her. The other girls slowly began to find their niches. They saw CR frequently, as she hopped from New York to LA to write songs for the industry’s biggest names. Stacie stopped by once or twice a year between stops on her sex-ed college campus tour. The other girls flew in for a weekend here and there, too busy with their lives as jello wrestlers and corporate retreat leaders to be around for long (though if you told Beca three years ago that Amy and Aubrey would be working together to ease the tensions of fortune 500 companies, she would’ve spit out her Taco Bell and slapped you on the back). Needless to say, the chances of them all being in the same room now were slim, which made both Beca and Chloe grateful for technology. Stripped of weekly Bella rehearsals, they at least had this: one ridiculous group conversation that frequently evolved into avid discussions of “Bloe”s tabloid activities. 

[The Wife (1:30am)]: Bedtime? Oh, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Hmm, Chlo?

Beca put her phone down after she sent the text, watching Chloe’s face light up with the light phone screen at her contribution to the group message. The redhead   
grinned, but tried to press it down. Raising an eyebrow but not glancing up, she immediately started typing.

[Chloe (1:31am)]: That depends. We wouldn’t want the juicy details to be leaked to Access Hollywood again. Although, I don’t know who’d be dumb enough to do that…[Fat Pat (1:31am)]: Whoop there it is  
[Fat Pat (1:32am)]: Someone’s in the doghouse tonight

Beca smiled when she read the texts, but Chloe spotted a hint of fear behind the grin. It was enough to trigger an idea.

Because the thing about Chloe Beale is: she liked to play games. From the moment they had the conversation at the kitchen counter, this gal pal gig was a game. She played well, running a hand up Beca’s thigh or nibbling on her ear. She did whatever was necessary to see how far Beca would let her go in front of the various cameras surrounding them. Now that Beca had effectively thrown the metaphorical board game off the table in her toddler hissy-fit, it seemed that Chloe found an opportunity for a new game. 

Beca didn’t answer Amy’s texts, instead moving the bags of Taco Bell off the seat and unbuckling her seatbelt. Scooting closer to Chloe, she nudged her shoulder with her nose. Her fingers began tip-toeing up the inside of Chloe’s arm, circling around her ladybug tattoo.

“So…” Beca said quietly, though there was purpose in her voice. Chloe tried her best not to smile at Beca’s clear attempts to determine how much hot water she was in. 

“The doghouse, huh?”

Chloe couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Beca, noticing that the sudden intensity behind Beca’s eyes was quickly growing wilder. She breathed in to calm herself, inhaling Beca’s scent. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, Chloe turned back to the window. She tried to read the signs that were passing outside to distract herself.  
Beca, concerned, pressed closer. She took Chloe’s chin in her hand, trying to budge it towards her. The other woman didn’t break her stare out the window, though, so Beca pushed herself up, pressing a kiss to the edge of Chloe’s jaw. Chloe shivered, but didn’t let the buzz from Beca’s lips change her face.

“Seriously, Chlo?” Beca huffed, pulling back. Chloe smiled when she turned to look at Beca, whose eyebrow crease was slowly forming again. The smaller woman set her jaw, holding her hands out in frustration.

“Sorry, bud,” Chloe sighed, shrugging. “But, you know, we’re gal pals. Housemates.” She paused, her voice turning flirtatious. “And I don’t know if a slumber party is really appropriate.”

Beca threw herself into the seat, slumping as she groaned with annoyance. “This is ridiculous.”

For a few moments, they were silent. Beca ran her hands through her hair. “You know, if this is an actual thing, and I just told that reporter that we’re having sex, then you’re making me a liar. A slanderer.”

Chloe giggled, taking the hand the was resting in the seat between them. She pressed a chaste kiss to Beca’s palm and hummed. “You’re cute.” She creeped forward, putting her hand on Beca’s knee and leaning in so that their noses were touching. Beca held her breath, confused at Chloe’s sudden demeanor change but not willing to question it. She thought the other girl was moving closer, but she moved so slowly that Beca couldn’t be sure, floating in this in-between space. She felt, for the flash of a second, the press of Chloe’s lips on hers. It was gone before she noticed it was there. “Cute and unfiltered.”

“And fucked,” Beca muttered, breathing out finally. She crossed her arms.

“Ah, see,” Chloe squinched her nose, smiling, “That’s where you’re wrong. You wish you were fucked.”

–

Their “people” were, understandably, bothered by the comment. Or, to put it more accurately, completely panicked and running around as if the sky was falling.

“How the fuck is this my fault?” Beca heard Chloe squeak into her phone, pacing around the kitchen. Beca was awake early, baking pancakes in a trivial effort to win the game Chloe thought she was playing. “Beca,” Chloe said, holding her hand over the phone’s microphone, “Did I push you to ‘partake’ in PDA?”

In the words, Beca heard her girlfriend’s agent seep through. She was looking for some kind of supporting argument against the man. Beca smiled, raising her eyebrows, “I wouldn’t say pushing so much as caressing. Or maybe heavy petting. There was definitely some nibbling involved.”

Chloe groaned, throwing her hand to her forehead and walking out of the room, muttering more hurried words into her phone. Beca sighed, turning off the stove. She assumed that that wasn’t exactly the best thing to say when she was, according to Amy, “in a bit of a lesbi-lady-jam…and not the good kind”.

She already talked to her agent, using the phone call as her alarm clock. The woman seemed less frightened than Chloe’s agent, bubbling under the possibility that her admission could be twisted into some inspirational coming out story. “Fuck that,” Beca scoffed, digging her thumbnail into the desk she sat at, “I’ve been out for a while. It’s just that no one ever asked.”Beca finished plating the breakfast as Chloe stormed through the room, throwing her phone on the couch behind her. “They want us to go on TV,” she said, pressing hands against her temple. “Said we could ‘fix it all’ by playing the ‘brave lesbian’ card.”

Beca was halfway through her sip of coffee, but she stopped to raise her eyebrows. “You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

Chloe, who had been trying to smooth the creases on her forehead, finally let a smile out. She looked down at the dishes, sitting down. “I don’t think you fully understand that that’s exactly what I’m not doing, babe.”

Rolling her eyes, Beca responded in a strained voice. “Oh, my dear, I’m pretty sure I understand completely.”

Chloe chuckled, slathering her pancakes in syrup. Beca watched her warily. “I don’t want to go on some shitty morning news show with a rainbow shirt pretending like I’m the face of gay women everywhere. I’m not even gay!”

Taking a bite of her breakfast, Chloe gave a few small nods. “But if we don’t take control of the conversation, then they will. Our careers will turn into blown-up versions of lesbian stereotypes. Do you want the only music you produce to be Ani Difranco sound-a-likes?”

“Hey,” Beca held out a hand, joking, “I like Ani Difranco.”

“Point proven,” Chloe answered, taking another bite. Then, for a second, they were quiet, allowing the sound of their forks to fill the room. Beca dropped her fork against her plate, pressing her hands on the table.

“D’you know how frustrating it is,” Beca started, scooting her chair back, “that people knowing about our relationship requires damage control?”

Chloe ran a hand up her neck, massaging it. “I know.”

Beca stood up, moving to where Chloe sat and taking her hands. “For the record, Chlo,” Beca said, running circles over Chloe’s knuckles, “I don’t think anything needs to be fixed. And this,” she waved a finger between herself and Chloe, “Is not damage that I want to control. Or need to, for that matter.”

Chloe smiled, pressing a kiss to Beca’s cheek. “That’s sweet, babe, but you’re still not getting any.”

Beca let out an annoyed breath, stealing the last piece of Chloe’s pancake before throwing her hands up. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some action around here?”

Chloe laughed, grabbing Beca’s empty dish and putting it by the sink. “Bree thinks I should make you abstain for a month.”

“A month?!” Beca had been moving to help with the dishes, but she stopped, scared and shocked still. 

“Relaxxxx,” Chloe sang at Beca’s over-dramatics, reaching to rest her arms on Beca’s shoulders. “History’s shown that you have a tendency to make me re-think Aubrey’s strategies anyway.”

Beca put her hands on Chloe’s hips, backing her into the edge of the counter. “Oh, do I?”

Chloe bit her lip, humming. Her eyes flickered to Beca’s lips. Beca’s lip turned into a smile under the weight of Chloe’s glance. Then, Chloe blinked quickly, trying to steady herself by turning back to the sink. 

“But,” she said, taking a shaky breath and turning on the faucet, “I don’t give in that easily.”

“No, no, you don’t,” Beca said with a grin under her breath, jumping to sit on the counter next to Chloe and the sink, and turning the television on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got LOADS more fic on my tumblr (cheeky-geek-m0nkey.tumblr.com) so head on over there to read more. I'll be slowly uploading it all here.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite all of Beca’s protests, it was decided that the two would go on a morning show - just one - for “promotional reasons”. It didn’t much matter that both of their upcoming projects were months away, and most of them didn’t even have names let alone release dates. Damage control was damage control, and, as Beca’s agent said, “You brought this on yourself.” 

“It is entirely to early for this shit,” Beca grumbled, resting her head on the table in the green room. She felt Chloe’s hands running up and down her back, brushing her hair slightly but being sure not to ruin the curls carefully crafted there. 

“You’re cute when you’re cranky, you know,” Chloe hummed. Beca shifted, lifting her head just enough to see Chloe’s face. 

“You know,” Beca started. Her tone of voice and her grin was enough to hint to Chloe what she was about to say - or at least the route she was about to go on - and the redhead rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back. “It’s really  _brave_ of you to come on television with me.  _Live_ television. Where I could say or do anything…”

“You wouldn’t,” Chloe said. Her eyes were squinted, but her mouth was smirking and sure. “Your dad watches.” 

Beca shrugged, picking invisible lint off of her pantsuit. “My dad lived in the same house as me from the age of sixteen to eighteen. It’s not like I would say anything that would surprise him.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe admitted. “But my mom watches too.” 

Beca leaned back, pressing her head into Chloe’s shoulder. “You’re killing me, Chloe.” 

The redhead ran her fingertips lightly over Beca’s forearm, tickling the exposed skin there. “That’s the point,” she whispered, her voice low, “You need to know that you’re being punished.” 

“Kinky,” Beca quipped, just as soon as the stage manager had come into the room to fetch them. Chloe blurted out a quick, “Shut up”, slapping Beca lightly, and they both stood without any direction from the man standing awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Five minutes, yeah?” Beca said to the man, who just looked at her, scared. She tended to have that effect on people, now more than pre-fame, considering her reputation blended perfectly with that “Fuck you” face she’d mastered by freshman year of college. And Chloe knew - could even see - the kind of high she got from making people quake in their boots. It wasn’t cruel, necessarily, but it wasn’t nice either. She stood behind Beca, staring at the man with apologetic eyes and hoping that would be enough. 

It was funny, she thought, how in the eyes of the media, she was sugar sweet and Beca was nothing but sour. Bitter black mixed with warm yellows. 

And amidst this whole “out of the closet” scandal, it almost made her sad that  _this_ wasn’t the quality (or qualities) of their relationship that anyone decided to zero in on. The whole “lesbian” thing kind of took center stage. 

“So, why don’t you,” Beca paused, motioning with two fingers a sign for a guy walking away, “And give me some time to prep my girlfriend properly, ay?” 

The guy looked over at Chloe briefly, only to find that the kind, apologetic redhead was doing nothing but blushing and rubbing her forehead with a nervous palm. He backed out of the room quickly after that, to the sound of Beca’s chuckles and Chloe groans. 

“I might be killing you,” Chloe said, walking forward so that her forehead touched Beca’s, “But you might kill me first.” 

Beca raised an eyebrow, her gaze falling to Chloe’s lips. “That’s the plan, Babe.” 

Chloe was scared of whatever awaiting her on the main stage. She was, of course, familiar with the cameras, the set, even the anchors had stopped by her show enough times for her to banter with them comfortably. It was that she now had Beca by her side - a pre-coffee, pre-breakfast,  _celibate_ Beca - and the show was, undoubtedly and irreversibly live. 

The brunette could and would say anything. 

Which was fine, and, in fact, was exactly what everyone expected. She tended to speak her mind, more often than not somehow convincing everyone that it was a  _good_ thing - accidentally ranting about misogyny in the music industry, or the value of privacy in the world of fame - but Chloe based her career in innocence. Sweetness. Never straying out of bounds, but coming up to the lines  _just_ enough to attract interest. 

Beca held her hand tightly as they stood behind the camera, waiting to be called on. She leaned down towards her, taking a deep breath. “You okay, Becs?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said quickly. She was trying, and failing, to hide the way she needed to steady her breath. Chloe assumed this was how she was like before every interview. Lights and cameras - let alone questions about her basic identity - were not Beca’s game. But she knew, despite all the talk, that there was something more to this interview. You can come out a thousand times, and still the thousand and first time will scare the shit out of you. 

This, of course, was no different. 

She squeezed Beca’s hand. “I’m here, you know,” she said, and Beca smiled lightly. After one more steadying breath, she looked at Chloe, a grin on her face. 

“Yeah that’s the problem,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re very distracting in that dress.” 

The interview itself was fine. Or, the beginning was. Because they were light and sweet, and while the entire thing felt like it had an underlying purpose - it  _did_ \- they at least stretched the pleasantries out long enough for Beca and Chloe to ease into the couch cushions and let out a laugh or two. 

It was after the commercial break that the anchors got down to business, and Chloe wondered briefly if they were told to uphold a certain amount of innocent air time before diving in. She felt, next to her, Beca groping for her hand to hold, and when she shifted just enough to pull her hand into hers, the female anchor noticed immediately. 

She asked, of course, about Beca’s comment, and about “the truth” behind “this friendship”. Which, really,  _could’ve_ resulted in a terrible amount of impassioned inappropriateness from Beca - that was, really, how this whole thing started in the first place - but it must have been too early, or Beca was too nervous, or just the presence of Chloe made it just that much more different, because Beca smiled - almost sweetly - and bought time for her response. 

“I’m not going to compliment her as much as I want to, because she’s sitting right next to me, and that’s going to make her head blow up,” she said, shrugging. Chloe squeezed her hand tighter, knowing that the answer wasn’t enough. 

“We want to know, though, how it feels,” the man asked, “To finally reveal yourselves to the public.” 

“I’m sure you would want to know that,” Beca said between gritted teeth. She looked to Chloe, who was watching so intently that she forgot she was involved at all. Blinking, she opened her mouth once, closing it for a second of consideration. 

“There was and is nothing to reveal,” Chloe said slowly, her eyes focused on Beca’s so as to make sure she never stepped too far. “Because we’ve never really been hiding.” 

“Well, we knew you two were close…” The woman started, but Chloe held her hand up. 

“No, you assumed,” she said. “You assumed we were close. You assumed that, when I was on top of my girlfriend at the beach, we were wrestling in the sand. And you assumed that when Beca put two girls in her music video, she was just trying to empower people. You assumed that we were close, because it was easier for you than actually realizing the obvious truth.” 

Beca let out a breath when Chloe finished, as if she’d said the whole spiel herself. The female anchor blinked at Chloe, surprised, and, stuttering, the man tried to recover the situation. 

“Of course, this must mean great things for girls everywhere who’re looking fo–”

“We’re not role models, Steve,” Chloe said quickly. Beca was biting her lip, and Chloe saw her trying to breath out of her nose. She didn’t much care, because there was something rising up in her that she couldn’t really identify. Something strange, and unfamiliar, and capable of completely overtaking her mind enough to wipe away the lessons she’d learned from PR agents and managers and countless crash courses in publicity tours. “We’re not anything, except for women. In love. And stuff. And this isn’t us coming out, just for the record. We’ve been out. You just…well, like I said, you just assumed. So let’s not make this more than it is.” 

She finished with a purse of her lips and a nod of her head, as if everything she’d said was kind and sweet and totally completely in line with her character. As if she hasn’t just pulled a Beca Mitchell on national television. Beca opened her mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. The action was enough to draw the attention of both anchors, which meant that Beca had to at least contribute an ounce. 

“You know,” she said, grinning, “My girlfriends kind of cute when she gets annoyed by heteronormative expectations.” 

Chloe shoved her slightly with her shoulder, grinning. They moved their hands from hiding behind their backs to resting on their legs, which were pressed together side by side. 

“Right,” the woman said, straightening the papers on her desk. “Yes, well. In the next hour, we’ll be talking about taking out the dirt and grime from the insides of your faucet…yuck! We’ll be right back.” 

The lights turned down slowly, and over the course of a few seconds, a silent studio revved up, with people jostling around and cameras shifting. The anchors, whom Chloe usually chatted with for a second before they ran off to their next segment, just scurried away from the couches Beca and Chloe sat at, not saying much by way of friendly small talk. 

When Chloe faced Beca, the woman was about to burst out in laughter. “Don’t say it,” Chloe said, standing up quickly and turning her back. 

“Say what?” Beca asked teasingly. Her hand was on Chloe’s hip, and when the redhead turned back around, Beca was right there meeting her stare. “That was hot.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe grumbled. “I’m in so much trouble.” 

“Psssh,” Beca said. She had her hand on Chloe’s face to keep her from looking for her manager, who was surely beyond pissed at the moment and searching relentlessly for her client. “You were badass.”

“I was dumb,” Chloe fought. “And aggressive.” 

“Fits with the stereotype, which I’m sure people will enjoy.”  

Chloe shoved Beca lightly before crumbling into her, a head resting on Beca’s collarbone. “That was so stupid. I just couldn’t…they were being so…and then…”

“I know,” Beca said soothingly, “I know. Hey, Babe, look at me.” 

Chloe stood up, meeting Beca’s eyes, which were tired but lined meticulously for the cameras. A deep navy blue. “On the brightside, now I have to punish you too. And, like, I was thinking we might go about it a bit differently this time.” 

Chloe laughed self-deprecatingly, shaking her head, but Beca was there, forehead nudging forehead up. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked cute when you’re angry.” 

“The line was ‘annoyed by heteronormative expectations’,” Chloe said with a light chuckle, one that Beca picked up on quickly and threw back at her. She leaned up, pressing her lips against Chloe’s once, briefly, and pulling away to the sound of the redhead’s sigh. “You’ve been killing me for a while now, Chlo, so can we please go home and…”

“Beale!” Her manager cut off Beca’s words, pulling them away so that they could see that the lights had been lit up again, a camera still focused on them. 

“That’s the…” Chloe said, pointing at the camera, “We’re on…”

“We went live at ‘Now I have to punish you too’,” the cameraman said tiredly, not noticing how the two women’s eyes bulged like twin deers in headlights. 

And, while they could air “homosexual” content on morning television, they could not, thankfully, air the stream of curses spilling out of Beca’s mouth, which proved to do little, actually, in controlling the video from going viral.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I have LOADS more PP fic on my tumblr (flabbergasties), I'm just slowly uploading it all to here. So check it owwwwww-t.


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